


Family Resemblance

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, chapter two has platonic or romantic prinxiety!, parent-ish logicality, remus is mentioned (literally just his name), yeah that, yknow that thing where they just give each other a Look and communicate silently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: It's been a stressful day, so when Virgil gets fed up with all the arguing, names get a bit jumbled.(based off a post suggesting the angst after one of the side accidentally calls Roman by his brother's name)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it was my post, i wrote something based off my own post because i wanted angst. posted on @coconut-cluster. anywho enjoy :)

Virgil, in his defense, was really stressed out.

It had been a long, long day - a long day full of errands and the obligatory human interaction that came along with errands - and he’d been on edge since noon at least from all the travel, not to mention exhausted after yet another night of no sleep, _and_ he couldn’t seem to shake a dull headache all day. He just wanted to drag himself into a corner and curl into a ball until everything faded away for a while. Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly a beacon of patience at the moment. 

“That’s _ridiculous_ , Logan!” 

“I assure you, Roman, the only ridiculous aspect of this discussion is your attitude, but if you’re so irate about my suggestion, then I’m sure you have a far better one to offer?”

“I think we need to calm down a little, kiddos-” 

Thomas gave a discomfited groan, squeezing his eyes shut while Logan and Roman continued arguing over Patton’s futile attempts at mediation. Virgil just kept his mouth shut, chewing on his bottom lip and tugging at the zipper on his sleeve enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if it wore out completely by the time he sank out; this was a stupid argument, pointless and frustrating and way too loud to just be about a video idea, and he was tempted to just sink out right then and there and let the others hash it out by themselves - but Thomas was anxious, so he was very, very (reluctantly) present. 

“What do you think, Virgil?” Roman asked suddenly. Virgil looked up to find his and Logan’s eyes on him, clearly expecting him to pick a side. Hell no.

“I think you should leave me out of it,” he growled, “ _or_ you guys could stop acting like children and just compromise for once.”

Roman’s nose scrunched up at that. “Well ex _cuse_ me, Ruby Gloom, but my idea is perfectly fine on its own, if only _Logan_ ,” he sent the logical side a pointed glare, which was quickly returned, “would actually let Thomas have a little fun once in a while!” 

“Your ‘idea’ is hardly developed in any sort of executable fashion,” Logan countered. Virgil huffed a hair away from his face, hunching farther down on his step and curling his fingernails into his palms. “Not to mention-”

“I don’t need another lecture! I know what Thomas’ content should look like, thank you very much; need I remind you which one of us is his creativity, a-k-a the very _basis_ of his life’s work? No? It’s _me_ , I’m talking about me-”

“Aren’t you always,” Logan muttered.

“-and I think my ideas should be heralded with just a little more support, because I hate to burst your all’s bubbles, but I actually have pretty good ones! Just because you don’t like every single concept I come up with doesn’t mean I never have anything to bring to the table!” 

Why did they have to be so loud? They weren’t even ten feet away from each other-

“Your ideas have been impractical,” Logan said, “not to mention half-witted, on more occasion than one.”

“Half-witted?!” 

“It means foolish or idiotic-”

“ _I know what it means_.”

Virgil gritted his teeth. This had gone on too long; Thomas and Patton knew it, too, and his fuse was burning short while they stood silently. 

“I can’t- I don’t need you to like all my ideas,” Roman cried, “but you don’t even give them a chance! You’re always so stuck-up with your holier-than-thou attitude, you can’t even imagine that someone knows better than you-”

“Remus, just _shut up_!”

The yelling stopped. 

Virgil expected it to - he never yelled back, just snapped a little louder than usual or, if worst came to worst, Tempest Tongue made an appearance - but the dead silence that fell over the five of them just screamed something bad. He looked up from where he was staring at a hole in his jeans and found everyone staring at him; Patton and Thomas’ eyes were wide, Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, but Roman-

Roman blinked at him with owlish eyes, mouth open as if he was on the verge of retorting but stopped short, and his complexion was ashen, a ghost of Thomas’ usual soft tan - but it was the inexplicable smattering of hurt across his face that made Virgil truly pause. 

He’d told Roman to shut up plenty of times. Like, a _lot._ And a few of those instances had been fueled by the exact same amount of annoyance, and he _knew_ Roman didn’t care too much about volume, so why…? 

“Oh,” he realized a moment later. “Oh, my God.”

_‘Remus, shut up!’_

_Remus-_

“Roman,” he breathed, “I didn’t- I meant Roman, I didn’t mean to say that, I didn’t mean-”

“Kiddo,” Patton said quietly, reaching a hand toward the prince, who flinched away, and Virgil felt something in his chest constrict. 

“It’s okay,” Roman said. His voice wobbled at the end, but he just cleared his throat as his gaze flickered to Logan’s weary expression, then Thomas’ clear discomfort. “It’s okay,” he repeated in a whisper, “I understand. I’ll just- please excuse me.”

And he sank out. 

“Shit-” Virgil gripped the edges of his sleeves in his palms, glancing wildly between the three faces before him. “I didn’t mean it,” he insisted. “It was an accident, I really didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, Virgil,” Logan sighed. He shared a look with Patton, something unreadable passing through their met gaze - Virgil couldn’t help but feel it was about him. Couldn’t help but feel he deserved whatever silent criticism they were sharing. 

“I have to go find him,” he said thickly, but Patton held a hand out to stop him. 

“Give him a little time alone, kiddo.”

Virgil wanted to protest, to sink out right then and comb through the Mindscape until he found Roman and apologize til his throat was raw, because he _knew_ how badly a stupid slip-up like that hurt the prince… but he also knew Patton knew best about emotions and cooldowns and apologies. So he swallowed, swallowed again when his throat just felt tighter, and sank back down on the steps, curling inward like his hoodie would swallow him and his shame if he tried hard enough. 

If only. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance for reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yea im a sucker and did a part two.

It had been an hour and a half of Virgil sitting on the steps, shriveled into his hoodie, and Roman still wasn’t back. 

Roman was usually gone for hours in the Imagination - which is where he was, Virgil was nearly positive, since he’d gone looking for him around the Mindscape despite Patton’s advice to give him space and found nothing - but this wasn’t exactly his usual heroic escapade into whatever adventure-filled kingdom he’d created for himself. This was an escape from Virgil, from his lack of tact and common sense, so with every passing minute that the door at the end of the upstairs hall remained closed tight, the pit in Virgil’s stomach grew heavier and heavier. 

Patton and Logan had retired to their rooms a while ago. They’d sat with the anxious Side in the Mindscape living room for a little bit, talking easily to each other and trying to engage Virgil in the conversation; after nearly an hour of his silence, they seemed to realize he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk. Patton muttered to Logan, and the logical Side replied with something about spirals - Virgil finally looked up then, told them they could go, he’d just get a snack and go take a nap, which seemed to satiate their parent instincts enough for them to nod and rise from the couch at last; Patton ruffled his hair as he passed him on the stairs and offered a small smile that Virgil had seen enough to know meant _‘I’m here for you, kiddo_ ’. Logan just gave a brief nod, meeting his eyes long enough for the anxious Side to tell he wasn’t alone in his guilt. 

He never actually got a snack, so he was glad Patton hadn’t come back to check on him yet. Every time he thought about getting up to shuffle to the kitchen, his limbs felt too heavy, weighing him down on the carpeted steps. He’d been numb at first, right after Roman sank out, until everything was fuzzy at the edges as he resigned himself to waiting everything out, like Patton suggested, his feelings colored only by burning shame and roiling guilt. Now, though- now, sitting on the steps and staring at the spot in front of the TV, despite its emptiness, _because_ of its emptiness, the pit in his stomach was rising to his chest, pushing his heart to a quicker pace and quicker yet as he sat mulling empty space and time and his own screw-ups and he needed to _go_. 

He was up the stairs in less than a minute, thanking everything and its mother that the floor was carpeted as he raced down the hallway so Patton and Logan couldn’t hear and talk him into staying again. He needed to get to the Imagination, to _Roman_ , and he needed to do it now. 

He flung open the door at the end of the hall and yanked it shut behind him. 

The flush of relief in his chest, albeit small, was enough to leave him winded (though maybe it was all the sudden sprinting, he wasn’t exactly in shape); he leaned back against the door, eyes squeezed shut as he forced a few even breaths in and out of his lungs. It was a few seconds before he realized it was raining. 

The sky of the Imagination had always been clear - at least when he visited it, rare as the occasion was - and cotton candy colored, dotted with just enough picture-perfect clouds to keep the sun from beating down on whoever traversed the rolling green hills under it. It had a constant, drifting scent of honeysuckle, a sweet thing that seemed to follow Roman’s paths when the creative side toured them through a forest that dripped with sunlight and birdsong. It was bright and lively and welcoming. 

Usually. 

When Virgil opened his eyes (and immediately closed them again because it was raining and he was an idiot), the clear blue sky was gone - in its place was unbroken grey, dark and heavy with rain that didn’t seem to be relenting any time soon; the smell of honeysuckle was drowned by the thick scent of rain, and frankly, the black clouds in the distance didn’t look very bright and lively. Or welcoming, for that matter, at least until he got his hands on an umbrella. 

He stared into the distance, scanning the landscape through the sheet of rain and searching in vain for a sign of where to go; but then he saw a shadow of something to his left, something blocky and blurred behind the rain. It wasn’t exactly a neon sign with an arrow pointing to Roman - not that Virgil expected to be that easy - but it was the only thing other than trees that he could see, the only clue as to where the prince had retreated. So he hiked up his hoodie and started walking. 

The rain was colder than he expected, he realized after he’d trekked a few dozen yards and the downpour began to seep through his patched sleeves. He pulled a hand out of his pocket to yank his hood forward, then shoved it back in as quickly as he could when he felt the raindrops - they were icy, a cold bite on his skin, an unpleasant prickle that remained even as he pressed the back of his hand against the inside of his pocket to try and warm it up. He kept his head hung to avoid the same situation on his face, glancing up occasionally and only to check if the distant building was growing less distant. It was slow, but ten minutes later, he could make out enough details to realize it was a castle. He gave a small sigh of relief - he’d chosen a good direction. 

Ten more minutes, though, he was less relieved and more desperate. The rain still hadn’t let up - he was starting to think it was getting harder as he progressed toward the castle - and his hoodie was fully soaked, a freezing weight on his shoulders, hood abandoned against his back and hair stuck to his forehead as he squinted at the ground. He tried to focus on one step after another, one foot at a time. He didn’t even bother glancing up at the castle anymore; he’d just pushed forward in the same direction, trusting himself to maintain a straight line, trusting the castle to stay in the same spot as he walked. The pit of dread and guilt in his stomach turned to panic (also guilt, the guilt was still pretty prominent) as he considered the possibility he’d never actually reach the castle, that he’d freeze before he could ever apologize and make things right with Roman; he’d die - could Sides die? - right there, in the middle of the Imagination, and even worse, he’d die an insensitive jerk-

He ran straight into a pillar. 

After stumbling back a step and fighting his momentum to stay standing, he finally looked up, finding himself face-to-face with a grand stone pillar; he glanced past the intricately-carved base and saw a set of stairs leading up to double doors made of some dark wood, cut into by stained glass windows of gold and red. Yeah, he’d definitely come to the right place.

He ducked his head again as he veered past the pillar, climbing the stairs as quickly as he could to finally get out of the rain, though the minute he did, a chill wracked his spine, violent enough to make him dizzy when he looked back up at the golden knocker on the doors. He reached a trembling hand out and curled his fingers around the metal, icy to the touch, knocking it as hard as he could against the door (which wasn’t very hard - his arms were stiff from the cold, not to mention laden with his water-soaked hoodie). There was no response. He knocked again, then a third time after another few seconds of silence. 

“Hello?” he called; it was nearly drowned out by the rain, though it echoed slightly around the porch of the castle (porch- did castles have porches? He wasn’t very well graced in castle architecture). “Hello!” he tried again, louder, a tremble forcing its way into his voice. “Roman? It’s- it’s Virgil, I just…” He swallowed past the lump in his throat - heat pricked at his eyes as he realized that his whole trek through the downpour might have been pointless, that Roman wasn’t even here and he was just a freezing, dripping-wet idiot standing in front of an empty castle. 

“I came to apologize,” he finished lamely. 

He looked up at the stained glass windows at the top of the doors, holding his breath as he waited for some kind of reply, anything at all to let him know he wasn’t alone in the storm. There was the rain beating against the roof above, his heartbeat in his ears, distant thunder - but no reply. 

Just as he hung his head and turned to start back toward where he’d started, the doors opened. 

Roman’s prince uniform had been abandoned, replaced by a white sweater and dark pants, his riding boots swapped for bright red fuzzy socks that Virgil distinctly remembered as a Christmas gift from Patton, back when the fatherly Side attempted knitting and promptly gave up in favor of picking out socks for each of them instead (though he did still give them the botched knitting projects - Virgil’s black and purple one was folded inside a box of mementos he kept tucked under his bed, saved for when days were bad, when he needed something familiar to hold onto). The prince’s hair was tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it a bunch, and his eyes were rimmed with red and glimmered under the castle’s soft light. 

Their eyes met through the doorway; Roman looked him over, his eyebrows furrowed. “You look awful.”

Virgil couldn’t smother the tiny smile on his face as he blinked up at the creative side. “So do you.” Roman didn’t laugh, but he didn’t scowl like he normally would either - Virgil couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

“Did you walk all this way through the rain?” Virgil nodded; Roman’s frown deepened as he nodded into the castle, stepping aside to let the anxious side come through the door, letting the door fall shut behind him. 

“You’re soaking wet,” Roman said, voice laden with concern that made Virgil’s stomach twist. 

“Yeah.” He swallowed, steeling himself with a breath, and started, “Listen, Roman, I-”

“You’re not staying in wet clothes, you’ll get sick and then Patton will be all worried for the next week. I can probably come up with something while your hoodie dries- here, hand it to me.”

The prince held a hand out, gaze set firmly on a patch on Virgil’s hoodie as the anxious Side stared at him, eyebrows knit and mouth opening and closing like a (very eloquent and not at all stupid-looking) fish. Finally, he shrugged off his jacket - or peeled it off, more accurately - and gave it to Roman, forcing down a chill as he realized how wet the rest of his clothes were in the gentle breeze that ran through the castle hall. He wrapped his arms around himself while Roman frowned again at the hoodie in his hands. The prince folded it into as neat a square as he could, staring at the patches in silence for a moment before it shimmered away. 

“It’s just in a dryer,” Roman reassured without having to look up and see the slightly panicked expression on Virgil’s face. “It’ll be fine, I promise. Here.” 

The chill on Virgil’s arms disappeared - he looked down to find a black sweatshirt had replaced his usual shirt, though his jeans seemed identical (albeit significantly less wet); it wasn’t exactly his usual ensemble, but it was warm, which was more than enough at the moment. He wiped at the water dripping down the back of his neck before it seeped into the hood on his back. 

“I hope that works for now,” Roman continued - he looked the outfit over, pointedly stopping at the sweatshirt and avoiding Virgil’s eyes. His shoulders were slumped, Virgil finally realized, fingers fiddling with the edges of his sweater as he examined his work with tired eyes. His flair had all but disappeared completely; Virgil’s chest went tight all over again. This was his fault, he knew it, and he needed desperately to fix it. 

He hugged himself again, marvelling for a second at how soft the sweatshirt was before fixing Roman with an earnest stare. “It’s fine- it’s _great_ , but Roman-”

“Come sit down, your hair is a wet mess.” 

He took a deep breath as Roman turned on his heel and headed off to another room. He guessed he deserved this, but the prince’s deliberate avoidance made him more worried than ashamed (though there was a fair amount of shame, too); he knew Remus was a sore subject - more than that - with Roman, but he’d never considered the rift ran so deep as to result in- well, _this_. Virgil just bit his tongue and shuffled after Roman. 

They ended up in a study, a room that seemed fitted for Logan despite the red and gold couches, with its heavy shelves and leather-bound books and antique-looking globe in the corner; it smelled like cinnamon, warm and spiced. With the dim light of a rainy sky drifting through the windows on one side of the room, Virgil would normally feel at ease here - now, though, was not the time for relaxation, at least not for him. 

He sat down on one of the red cushions, hands shoved in the pocket at the front of his sweatshirt (was it technically his?) as he glanced around the study, waiting for a bustling Roman to still so they could talk, but as soon as the prince finally slowed down a bit and Virgil opened his mouth to start an apology for the third time, there was a towel in front of his eyes. 

To be fair, it was only the corner of the towel, and only for a second before it moved and Virgil realized Roman was drying his hair. There was something distinctly domestic about the scene, something that made Virgil’s heart ache, even as another corner of the towel threatened to poke his eye. 

“Roman,” he started yet again, eyes squeezed shut, but Roman just began humming to himself. “Ro-”

“I can make some hot chocolate, if you need it, or want it, I suppose.”

Hot chocolate sounded amazing, but it was beside the point. “Roman.”

“It won’t be as good as Patton’s, of course, since the homemade is always better than anything I can think up in the Imagination, but-” 

“ _Roman_.” He twisted around to face the prince, grabbing Roman’s wrist gently to still him. “I’m sorry.”

Roman’s eyes were wide as he stared down at Virgil. They watched each other in silence for a minute - Virgil realized the rain had lessened, hitting the roof with less ferocity now. 

Then Roman swallowed, shifted his gaze to the towel in his hand, and said, quietly, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“ _Yes_ , I do. I got frustrated and I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean it,” he emphasized, ducking to meet Roman’s eyes, “but I said it and it hurt you, so I’m sorry.” 

Roman’s gaze fell to Virgil’s hand on his wrist. His eyelashes fluttered, like he was trying and failing to hold back tears, and at last his posture crumbled; he shuffled around the back of the couch and sank into the seat beside Virgil, head hung and hands folded loosely together in his lap. 

“I’m sorry for making you frustrated,” he said quietly. 

Virgil gave a small smile, though Roman didn’t look up to see it. “Thanks.”

They went silent again, but the conversation clearly wasn’t over, a thread of tension and bated breath still in the air as Virgil glanced out the window and Roman stared at his lap. The rain filled the quiet around them; again, Virgil was struck by how comfortable the sweatshirt he wore was, and he almost regretted that he’d have to give it up eventually. 

He fell back to attention as Roman took in a small breath beside him.

“Am I like him?” the prince whispered - his voice was frail, as if asking the question was too hard, too strenuous, to say any louder - and Virgil felt a new wave of guilt tear through his chest. 

“Not even close.”

Roman sent him a sidelong glance. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No,” Virgil said without a beat of hesitation, but Roman didn’t respond. “Roman.” 

Finally, the prince looked up - his eyes were shining again, eyebrows low and mouth a taut line. 

“You’re _not_ ,” Virgil insisted. “You’re not like him. You’re-” He paused with an exhale, searching for the right words. “You’re whimsical, and dreamy- and you’re _good_ , Princey. You’re good.”

There was another beat of silence, but then, like the sun peeking through dark clouds, Roman gave him a tiny smile. 

“You think I’m dreamy?” he said, batting his eyelashes.

Virgil let out a sharp exhale and rolled his eyes, though he didn’t bother to smother his own smile as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Roman just grinned, but it was a sight for sore eyes, brilliant and infectious even in the dim light of the storm outside. His eyes flitted upwards, and he smothered a laugh. “Your hair is an absolute mess.”

“Yeah,” Virgil scoffed, “‘cause _you_ toweled it like it offended you.”

“Maybe it did! You’re the one who walked in looking like a wet raccoon!” 

“Well, you’re the one who made me walk twenty minutes through the rain to get to your castle!”

Roman actually did laugh then, shaking his head. “I didn’t make you do anything.”

“...Fair enough.”

He glanced over at Virgil, his laughter tapering off to leave a fond, crooked smile, and Virgil realized the rain had finally stopped. “Thank you, though,” he said softly, “for coming out here. I appreciate it.” 

Virgil gave a small smile back. “No problem, Princey.” 

They fell silent again, but it was comfortable now, light with familiarity and warmth. Virgil let himself take in a breath and relax. 

“What do you say we follow up on that hot chocolate?” Roman asked suddenly, head tilted to the side as he glanced over at Virgil with a smile.

“I would die for hot chocolate right now, yeah.”

As Roman gave another quiet laugh and got up - “I’ve got these wonderful mugs, just wait a second!” - Virgil stared out the window again, eyes tracing the panes idly; he heard singing carry through the castle, Disney and lively and so very Roman. It was only then he noticed that not only had the rain stopped, but there, soft but definite among the receding storm clouds, was a rainbow. 


End file.
